Page 38 of Logan
He studied me for a beat, then said, “You work behind the bar only, and you wear your patch.”
“Logan, I am not wearing a leather jacket behind the bar all night,” I argued, throwing my hands up. “It’d be one thing if it was a t-shirt, but I’ll be sweating my ass off.”
His palm skimmed down, fingertips grazing the curve of my ass in a way that was anything but accidental. “That would be a shame,” he murmured.
I glance down at the “Property of Logan Pearce” t-shirt he’s apparently had custom made, rushed to me like it’s some kind of flag he wants planted in public. The cotton is soft against my skin, broken in just enough to feel lived-in, hugging me in all the right places without clinging too much.
I’d been ready to throw down about it, to tell him I wasn’t some trophy he could tag, but the way it fits… I hate that I don’t hate it. In fact, I almost like the way it makes me feel, like a part of something that’s his.
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the thought, making me flinch. The number is unfamiliar, but my thumb hits the answer button before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hello, Mackenzie.”
Everything in me stills. My lungs forget how to work. The voice is low, steady, dripping with that cold, calculated malice I know too well. One I never thought I’d hear again.
“Why are you calling me?” My voice is tighter than I want it to be, but I can’t help it.
Mr. Watson laughs, and the sound creeps over my skin like oil. “Just wondering if you’ve reconsidered my offer yet. Working in a strip club is really beneath you.”
My stomach turns over, cold spreading outward from the center. How the hell does he know where I’m working?
“Come back. I won’t be too hard on you for your disrespect.” His tone is almost amused, like I’m a pet that needs training, and the sheer arrogance in it makes bile rise in my throat.
“Fuck you.” My voice cracks just enough to betray how rattled I am, and I hang up before I can hear another word.
For a few beats, I don’t move. My heart thuds hard in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears. I focus on my breathing slow, deliberate, trying to unclench my fists, trying to stop the tremor that’s already in my hands.
The dressing room door opens behind me and Shaina steps in, carrying the faint scent of outside air with her. Her eyes immediately land on my shirt, and she grins. “He’s an ass.”
I force a shrug, aiming for casual. “I don’t mind it too much.”
Her smile fades slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “You good?”
I nod quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. I just zoned out.”
I’m not telling her about the call. Not yet. If I tell Logan, he’ll go after Watson, and once that fuse is lit, there’s no putting it out. I’ll have to live with whatever follows, and I’m not ready to carry that weight. Still, the pit in my stomach feels like it’s made of lead, pressing down hard and refusing to leave.
I push it aside. I have work to do, and at least in the club, there’s safety in the crowd.
Stepping onto the floor, I’m hit by the layered hum of voices, laughter, and music. The smell of beer and faint traces of perfume mingle with the sharper scent of liquor behind the bar. It’s already busy for this early in the night, bodies moving through the space, pockets of noise rising and falling.
I’m almost to the bar when a hand clamps around my arm. The grip is firm, meant to stop me, and I whirl around, adrenaline already spiking.
Darcy stands there, eyes glittering with mean satisfaction. “Just ’cause he claimed you doesn’t mean you’ll be the only girl he’s with. You’re his old lady, emphasis on the old. Shit gets boring quick.” She pops her gum and smiles like she’s waiting for me to snap.
My pulse steadies into something sharper, anger. I meet her stare, my voice cool and precise. “Get your goddamn hand off me now. Stay away from me and Logan, or I’ll have you thrown out on your skanky, STD-ridden ass here and at the club.”
Her hand falls away, but her smirk doesn’t. I turn my back on her before she can see just how much I want to rip that smug look off her face.
I slip behind the bar, keeping my movements controlled. Shaina glances over, one brow raised.
“I’m not making that bitch’s drinks,” I say flatly as I grab a clean glass. “She can wait.”
Shaina’s laugh is bright, easy. “Deal.”
The rest of the night moves in a steady rhythm with orders, banter, and clinking glasses but Darcy’s words keep replaying in my head like a song I can’t turn off. I’ve seen how some of the brothers operate. I know Logan isn’t a saint, but has he ever…? No. He wouldn’t. Would he?
I’m still lost in thought when a hand snatches mine from across the bar. I look up, and a drunk guy is grinning at me, his eyes roaming over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. Before I can yank my hand back, his wrist is twisted hard, slammed onto the bar so forcefully that the bottles rattle.
